


People Like You

by Cluegirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cluegirl/pseuds/Cluegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble series featuring Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silent Night

The last thing he ever heard was the curse. Auditus Maximus. He'd been translating it in his mind as it took effect, and so when the wall of sound crushed his brain to splinters, he'd been able to do nothing more than to fall.

The slightest noise was torment. The gentlest whisper a shout. His hands never left his ears, his voice locked horror-scream silent after his first howl of agony had sent him to the ground in excruciation. The healers came, he wept silently until the agony of their questions ceased. The victors prowled the field, and left him for mad -- harmless despite his damning hair and silver-teared eyes.

Until one stopped. The loudest of them all. Blue eyes like swords pinned him in place, red hair that was almost deafening in itself, freckles, each like a hammer against tin. He didn't speak, but stood there, hand out, and staring so loudly -- so loudly that Draco had no choice but to fling himself at Ron, to cover that shout-open mouth with wordless desperation, thrust in his tongue and kiss the red-haired, blue-eyed, freckled din silent.


	2. The Water is Wide

"We're both purebloods." Click.

"And only one of us gives a toss about that." Click.

"Our fathers both work for the ministry." Click.

"Your father's cooling his heels in the pokey, and mine's collecting rubber ducks." Click. "Check."

"Oh, come on! We're both gay!" Click. "Aren't we?"

Click. "Bisexual. And actually I like birds better." 

"Oh." Click. "Well, we both think I'm stunningly gorgeous."

Clicksweep. "Mmm hmm. You just keep telling yourself that."

"Crap." Click. "Tempers then. We've both got terrible tempers."

"I've got a temper. *You've* just got a whine that could cut glass." Click. "Check again."

Thudclatter. "I suck cock better than anyone you will *ever* meet."

"...Checkmate."


	3. Ennervate

They called him the Ice Prince, though they never really knew why.  
Most supposed it was for the stillness of him, the cool, flawless texture of his pale skin, like snow that falls on the year's coldest, darkest night, for the pale drift of his hair across his chiseled face. A few, who dared lift the lid of his eye, claimed it was for the wide-dreaming eyes -- sharp as frozen blades hiding underneath. He was a beautiful mystery from the moment he plummeted from the sky, silent, and still, and sleeping like ice.

They placed him safely, grandly in the darkness, robed him as they would a king, and came slowly to believe their mystery of ice and silence held the luck of the kingdom under his cool, silent tongue.

His bier was draped with white, and once a moon, they would come, feel of his breath, his whispering heart -- to know their Luck lived on.

But one such night, they found their Ice Prince gone, his bier rumpled, pillows tossed, and satin stained with lust. And those who had been near could only say their Ice Prince had been carried off by a Prince all of Fire.


	4. , "Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have."

He watched his lover pack. It was all he could do, really, every time he tried to speak, the words came out hard-edged and vicious, drawing blood and more resentment to those freckled cheeks. He couldn't even touch, for fear of freezing, cracking, shattering under all that firey orange passion.

So he watched those long, denimed legs storm around the room. Watched the muscled back his hands knew so well bunch and roll under that thin white t shirt. Watched the brilliant ginger just at his temple darken with sweat as the Weasley temper slipped its bonds by degrees. 

Finally the trunk slapped shut, and the worn heel ground an ultimatum into the floor. "Well?" Ron demanded, hot eyed and beautiful, "Don't you have anything to say?"

And, because he didn't know the words, Draco could only let his apology and his lover slip through the cracks in his heart.


	5. forgiveness, accident, delicate

"Ask for it."   
He grinds his teeth, shakes his head. But desperate tears sting his eyes, and they both know he cannot hold out for long.  
"Ask me," Draco's voice is hard, but his touch is a delicate tracery from one freckle to the next, "you know you want it," Tickling, maddening, taunting touches that finger-walk down his spine, "no one can give it to you but me."  
"Please..." he hears himself whimper, before shutting his teeth. Impossible. He won't beg!   
But Draco moves, smooth and frighteningly soft behind him, tracing ancient runes on his patterned skin, breathing in Ron's straining ear. "Ask. Just ask, and I'll do it."  
And the word that escaped him returns to free its partner. Together, they force their way past Ron's tattered dignity, whispering in futile, accidental minor keys. Because Draco has no more forgiveness than he has mercy.


End file.
